


Fairy Tale

by PocketSwordOfDamocles



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist: Brotherhood & Manga
Genre: AU, F/M, Headcanons Everywhere, I Will Go Down With This Ship, I'm Bad At Summaries, Other characters mentioned - Freeform, Riza is a boss, Royai Week 2014, Someone please help Roy, how do you title, i tagged this as violent because there is some violence but i know that's not everyone's thing, i want to tag more buT I DONT WANNA SPOIL IT, this was supposed to be an AU?? but it's not EXACTLY AN AU...you know what i mean later tbh, this was the first fanfic i ever wrote please be gentle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-13 19:53:25
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,015
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9139858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PocketSwordOfDamocles/pseuds/PocketSwordOfDamocles
Summary: Riza is kidnapped. Roy does something stupid to rescue his not-so-in-distress-damsel.





	

“Don’t go where I can’t follow.” Riza had uttered those words to Roy once before, and she meant them, but now…now she was being forced away from his side.

The cart jolted as it wheeled across the rocky terrain. Her head throbbed, and the world around her was blurry. _What happened?_ she wondered; however, it didn’t take her long to understand her situation. Furrowing her brow, she ordered herself to recall the events that occurred before being knocked unconscious and kidnapped. Slowly, they came back: It was a normal day, nothing too strange happened. She had been walking Black Hayate, just like every afternoon, when a stray cat jumped out of an alley and momentarily startled her, and then… _nothing_.

The alley, Riza realized, scolding herself for letting her guard down. She hoped Black Hayate was alright – he wasn’t as agile as he used to be. If not, whoever did this would be lucky to escape her wrath alive.

But now was not the time for that; she had to get away from her captors somehow. She took a deep breath and closed her eyes, calming herself, and listened carefully, taking note of her surroundings.

From what she gathered, her hands and ankles were bond by ropes and she was alone in the back of the cart, except for the wall of empty, wooden crates inclosing her. There were exactly four horses – two pulling the cart, and two walking separately, one ahead and one behind the wagon. That meant there were at the very least three men – and Riza assumed that each were armed or skilled in combat – to deal with.

 _Outnumbered, but not entirely impossible_ , she concluded. Quietly, she pulled her ankles to her hands behind her back and suppressed a groan when she found nothing tucked inside her boots. _Damn it, they got my knives, too._ Riza never left the house unarmed, even for a simple task such as walking Black Hayate or buying groceries. Her captors were smart enough to check her for weapons, she’d give them that much. _This is a small setback, that’s all_ , she told herself. _Calm down_.

Gritting her teeth, Riza contorted her body until her hands were in front of her again, feeling as though her arms were going to detach themselves from their sockets and her hands from her wrists at any moment. It felt like hours had passed, her laying there and biting and ripping at the ropes binding her. Panic set in a few times, but she was able to control it.

A tiny victory came at last – the ropes loosened and gave way to her desire for freedom. Riza rubbed her raw wrists and flexed her aching fingers, biting back the pain. A new hope filled her. Next, she quickly worked on the ropes around her ankles with precision, though her fingernails were broken and bleeding.

Unbound but not completely free, Riza finally noticed that the wagon had been ascending uphill for some time. She briefly wondered where they were taking her and why they took her; unfortunately, she doubted those questions would be fully answered. Laying still and listening to the men exchange mindless small talk, she realized that she was wrong: There were at least four men to take out. Riza swore internally, but refused to allow the slight increase to bother her – be it five or ten more, she’d still find a way out of this mess.

Eventually, when she felt it was safe enough to peek through the stacks of crates, she breathed easier at the sight she saw. They were on the cliff that overlooked the city she lived in far below, which meant she hadn’t been taken too long ago – two maybe three hours at most, she figured. The odds were turning in her favor.

Riza bide her time until the climb up the cliff leveled out; she didn’t dare risk attacking them and _her_ falling over the edge in the struggle. Her life was too valuable. Her job was too important. She still had things to protect in this world and she couldn’t do that while being six feet under. Instead, surrounded by her crate prison, she formulated a plan of action and played the numerous possibilities in her mind until she was mildly confident with her strategy. It was by no means perfect – there were too many unknown variables, but it was something. If she got injured in the process, however, so be it. If some of the men had to be hurt or killed as well, then she’d do it without hesitation. As long as she survived and got away, that’s all that mattered.

Time passed sluggishly. Her muscles were strained, nerves on edge. The cart tossed her around a bit as she watched the sky grow darker with what looked to be storm clouds. She breathed in the crisp air, reminding herself every now and then that she wouldn’t have to stay like this for too much longer.

The horses’ pace slowed, the ground smoothing itself out at last.

She clutched the rope, each end of it wrapped around her hands, with the thought of using it as a garrote in mind and rolled onto her abdomen. After getting into a pushup position, Riza took a moment to take a deep breath through her nose and slowly exhaled it through her mouth. She then pulled her right leg to her chest, muscles tense and ready to spring, and held that stance until she counted down from three.

 _Three_.

Freedom was almost within her reach.

 _Two_.

Nothing was going to stop her from returning to Roy’s side.

 _One_.

Controlled chaos ensued. The sole of her boot collided against the empty crates with every ounce of force she could muster into a single kick, sending two of them crashing to the ground and startling the horses and riders. The wagon jerked to a creaky halt. Horses reared up and voiced their uneasiness; riders yelled at each other rather than calm the animals.

Riza pounced to her feet and hooked the rope in her hands around the neck of the man to her right. What she saw were not faces but bodies – bodies that were threatening her – and she wasted no time. She pulled the rope taut behind his neck and spun herself in a tight half circle to twist it more so; all the while, the man on the left was fiddling with the knife strapped to his waist. Her back to them, Riza quickly pulled forward and down, using her all her strength and body weight to jerk her target from his seat, over her shoulder, and into the back of the cart, unconscious.

Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed the other man in the cart had finally pulled out his – no, _her_ – knife. He wasn’t even holding it properly. _That_ annoyed her. She was not about to be stabbed by an amateur, with her own weapon no less.

Releasing her first victim, Riza dodged his simple strikes and crushed his hand against the top of a crate with her foot when the moment presented itself. The knife clattered on the wood beneath them. Swearing, he dove for it. But she was too quick for him, stomping her boot against his forehead and sending him flailing out of the wagon.

The brains of other two men on horseback decided to function again and attacked her in unison. The leader of the caravan swore loudly and fired a bolt from a crossbow at her. Luckily, she crouched and shielded herself with a nearby crate just in time. A second slower and she’d be pierced in the chest. Riza wasn’t so lucky, however, from the rider bringing up the rear; she was in full view of him. A blade, one very similar to the one at her feet, skewered her left forearm before she could react.

Clenching her teeth and blood dripping everywhere, Riza snatched up her blade, stood up, and flicked it right back in his direction, it sailing end over end and impaling him in the jugular. She didn’t watch him fall to the ground in a gargling, bloody heap, or his horse run off the way they came.

 _Three down, one to go_.

Reloading a crossbow took time, especially on horseback, but not much, and Riza seized the closing window of opportunity. She leapt out of the cart and slapped one of the horses hides so hard her right hand stung, startling them enough to charge forward. The leader’s horse reared up again, knocking him off with a loud, angry thud, and raced off to join the other barreling horses. For a split second, Riza thought about closing the gap, grabbing the fallen crossbow, and finishing this now, but the distance was too great her and so little for him. He’d kill her before she even got halfway.

Hide – she had no choice but to hide and regroup for the time being.

The only shelter was the ruins of a stone tower and giant pieces of crumbling walls, all of which were directly behind her enemy. It might have been a beautiful estate several decades ago. However, the passing thought of her being tucked away in a tower like a damsel in need of rescue made her ill. She was no trapped princess. She was a warrior, a queen. And warriors fought and queens conquered.

An idea occurred to her: The man she’d killed could be used as a shield and the knife could be another weapon. Boots dug into the earth, propelling herself to the corpse. Her hand wrapped around the knife handle protruding from her left forearm as she ran. Medically, she knew leaving it there was for the best – it’d keep the bleeding to a minimum until it could be bandaged properly – but she was desperate. Pain radiated throughout her arm and more blood poured out the moment she removed it.

Riza skidded to a stop and, in one motion, ripped out the blade imbedded in the corpse’s throat with one hand and –

A bolt clipped her right hip then. Instantly, Riza knew it was deep enough to require stitches; she dropped the body clutched in her grasp with a sharp hiss of pain. Her vision narrowed to the crossbow, which the leader was already beginning to reload as he slowly advanced, and she knew she had to attack then or die.

She steadied her stance, her breathing. The pain coursing through her meant nothing. She would not miss. She would not die here. She had promised Roy to stay by his side, and she was always true to her word.

A rapidly growing, dark shadow suddenly loomed over them.

“ _Get down_!” a voice ordered from above.

It said those two words with such conviction Riza automatically obeyed and dropped to the grass, covering her head with her hands.

Whatever said that caused the ground to shake so violently Riza thought the cliff would give way and plunge her to her death, taking at least half the city with her. Something gigantic rushed above her from the right then; a forceful wind, which nearly swept her away like a fallen leaf, and the sound of something solid colliding with stone quickly followed. The old tower came to mind, and she knew those ruins were nothing with rubble now.

Curiosity had Riza slowly lifting her head to peek. Her heart lurched to her stomach and she sprung to her feet, eyes wide and weapons in hand. It wasn’t the absence of her kidnappers or the blood splutter on the completely ruined tower that claimed her attention.

It was the titanic crimson-red dragon peering down at her.

She let in and out a shaky breath. “Oh, my God….”

“Riza, are you alright?”

Recognition dawned on her. But she had to wrong…right? On a closer look, she could slowly see the human under the dragon façade – identify the familiar tone of his voice and the way he said her name, the smugness in his stance, the away his eyes gleamed when he looked at her, the sheer idiocy it took to do such a thing. She couldn’t believe what she was seeing. “ _Roy_?”

“Of course it’s me,” he replied as though it was obvious. “Who else would it be?”

Riza went from awed to furious within three seconds.

“What the hell is the matter with you?!” she asked, pocketing her bloody knives.

“Ah…,” Roy brilliantly answered. “Huh?”

“Why did you come here?!” continuing her questions, marching toward him. “And why are you a dragon?!”

“You know,” he said, trying to lighten the mood, “you’re radiant when you’re angry.”

“Flattery will get you nowhere!”

Roy crouched to the ground, minimizing his size and looking like a scolded dog. “Kain found Black Hayate running around town, alone, so he got worried and told me,” he explained a bit too carefully. “I got worried, too – and everyone else was looking for you – so…um, I…had a thought.”

Riza raised an eyebrow at him. “Don’t tell me you cursed yourself just to find me.”

He wouldn’t make eye contact with her.

She groaned. “What kind of half-baked plan was that?!”

“I found you, didn’t I?!” he argued.

“Magic isn’t something you use so reckless, Roy!”

“I know, I know. I just,” he let out a breath, “wanted to make sure you were safe.”

“Look, I appreciate the effort – really, I do – but I had everything under control.”

“ _Clearly_ ,” he grumbled sarcastically.

She glared at him, crossing her arms, but let the comment slide because a more pressing thought came to mind. “Wait…if you’re here, then who’s watching the kids and Black Hayate? I swear, if Jean is watching them again, so help me, Roy –!”

“They’re with Maes and Gracia,” he reassured. “I’m not _that_ irresponsible.”

Riza stared at him, as if say: _Do you listen to yourself when you speak?_ “Says the man that cursed and turned himself into a _dragon_!”

“I was worried, Riza,” he stated, “and I’ll admit that this wasn’t one of my better ideas!”

She threw up her hands in rekindled frustration. “I was gone for only a few _hours_ , Roy! Seriously, _are you a complete idiot_?!”

“Okay, okay, fine! I get it: I’m an idiot! You happy now?”

The irritation faded as quickly as it came. No, she was not happy. She didn’t enjoy scolding him, though he partly deserved it for being dense. However, this _was_ just his misguided way of showing that he cared, and he _did_ save her life. She shouldn’t have been so cross with him. But Roy was still an idiot for turning himself into a dragon.

It began to drizzle and, the way the sky was looking, it’d be a downpour soon.

“Let’s go home,” Riza suggested after a few silent moments.

“What about them?” nodding at the unconscious or dead kidnappers behind her.

She shrugged, just wanting to get back to their home, to their young children, to their life. “Leave them. We’ll have someone else to come up here later and get them.”

Steam lazily rolled off Roy as he accepted her decision.

Her hand ran across the nearly scolding dragon scales as she walked along Roy’s side. For a moment, a mere fraction of time, she leaned against him, touching her forehead against the side of his head, and breathed, just breathed. It was so calming being like that by his side again. Everything was okay now; they were together, injured and cursed, but together and at peace. Riza didn’t care if he stayed like this – Roy would always be the man she fell in love with and chose to stand by day after day, no matter what state his body was in – and she knew they’d somehow make this work. She pulled away and proceeded to climb onto his back, wincing more often than she cared to admit.

In no time, the pair was airborne over the city when the rain came down as promised. She relaxed despite the storm, pushing her hair back and spreading her arms wide, tasting the rain and the air and the freedom of flight; she wondered if this was how birds felt and envied them.

But then Riza noticed that something was wrong – even more steam was coming off of Roy’s body than before. Was he growing smaller and colder as well? It was almost as if he was reverting back into a human.

The instant that thought crossed her mind, a cloud of steam and smoke enveloped them, and they were falling, rapidly and side-by-side, as humans.

They called for each other over the storm, their voices easily fading into nothing. Hands reached out and fingers stretched for something to grasp onto. They’d just been reunited, and Riza couldn’t bear the thought of being separated from him again.

“ _RIZA_!”

They were so painfully close.

“ _ROY_!”

Eventually, finally, Roy’s hand brushed against Riza’s, and they clasped them together as if their fingers were a perfect fit, and they were happy in their final moments.

“Please forgive me,” Riza mouthed, and Roy gave that dorky half smile of his.

The ground grew closer and –

 

“ _COLONEL_ ,” a voice cut through the darkness.

There was a weight on Mustang’s chest, and when his eyes snapped open, he realized why: Black Hayate was sitting on him, panting dog breath in his face. His hand automatically reached up to pet him, and the canine jumped down, satisfied. The Colonel sat up from his makeshift bed of papers and military library books in the dark corner of an old storage room, the falling sensation eerily lingering in his spine. He pinched the bridge of his nose, wondering why he would dream that.

Then he recalled that he had visited Gracia and Elicia the night before, and Hughes’s daughter had begged him to read and reread a book to her. He couldn’t say no, especially when she was being so persistent just like Maes, and read it to her as many times as she wished. Before Mustang left for the evening, he had told Elicia that Hughes was a lot like the wizard in the story that cursed himself to save the woman he loved. That her father would’ve done the same for Gracia and for her in an instant because that was the kind of man he was, and she cried, saying that that book was her favorite. He had gone home wishing that Hughes was still alive so _he_ could spoil his daughter and wife properly.

Mustang peered over his hand at Hawkeye, searching for injuries to thankfully find none. Sunlight shone in from the hallway behind her, and she looked like an angel sporting a disapproving glare, clutching documents and hot coffee.

“You have drool on your face, sir,” informed Hawkeye.

He blinked stupidly up at her. “Huh? Oh…,” wiping his chin with the sleeve of his uniform.

“Sir, if you’re going to sleep,” she suggested, “go to the barracks at least.”

The Colonel got to his feet with a yawn. “I was just resting my eyes, Lieutenant.”

Hawkeye simply nodded, though he could tell she didn’t believe him. She stepped out of the storage room, allowing Mustang a clear pathway to the hall, and handed him his coffee after he closed the door.

Their steps fell together naturally, paced perfectly with other. The Lieutenant was informing him of the meetings he had later in the day, documents to read and approve of, how they had to pick up Havoc’s slack, and so on as he sipped his coffee without tasting it. He’d steal glances every now and then, pondering over his silly dream. It was already fading in his memory, but some details stood out: They were married with children; Hughes was alive; water still made him useless.

Mustang wondered if that first detail would be possible one day – _him_ married with kids? It was almost laughable. After all he has done, especially in Ishval, how could he truly love anyone, and someone love him in return, when he had innocent blood staining his hands? He still woke up in the dead of night in a pool sweat from the nightmares. What woman would understand that, accept that darkness? How could he look his children in the eyes and teach them what is right and wrong when he was a murderer? No, he was not Hughes; he could not push away his sins to make someone else happy. He had no right to such happiness, to such love.

It has been over a year since the Promised Day. The Colonel looked at his Lieutenant, and he thought about the scar on her throat that May Chang somewhat healed using alkahestry. He also thought about the burn marks on Hawkeye’s back, destroying the secrets of flame alchemy. Both he had a hand in, and the guilt still weighted on him. She had promised to follow him anywhere, even into hell, but –

“Colonel,” questioned Hawkeye, “are you okay?”

Her voiced snapped him from his thoughts. “Yes, I’m fine,” he answered. “Is that all?”

“No, sir,” she replied, handing him a letter. “This came in today from Resembool. It seems the Elrics and Winry are doing well.”

“You read my mail, Lieutenant?” Mustang teased, stuffing it into his jacket pocket.

“No, sir. It was addressed to me, but I thought you’d like to know what those boys are up to as well.” The Lieutenant said bluntly, “You seem a little down today.”

She was always perceptive; he expected nothing less from her. “Thank-you, I’ll read it later when I visit Havoc in the hospital.” He was still in physical therapy, and he was slowly learning to walk again after being stabbed and paralyzed by Lust. The power of the philosopher stone never ceased to amaze him – it even healed his blindness after he forced to perform human transmutation. “Did Winry include that pie recipe?” he inquired, finishing off his coffee.

“The new one Alphonse is so fond of? Yes, sir,” she answered carefully, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “I think she meant to send it to Gracia.”

Mustang shrugged as they walked into his office. “You could try it yourself, Hawkeye,” he proposed with a grin, “and I’ll be your guinea pig.”

“You could, too, Colonel,” Hawkeye countered, setting a stack of documents on his desk.

“But a woman’s touch makes everything better,” Mustang whined, setting the empty mug down on the desk and sitting in his chair, dreading the mountain of paperwork. How was he supposed to tackle all of that on only one cup of coffee? Maybe if he gave it Black Hayate, the dog would tear it up and he could slack off the rest of the day; unfortunately, he knew Hawkeye had trained her dog well and would never do that. The thought of burning the paperwork with flame alchemy was also tempting. “It’s a scientific fact.”

“Sir,” rounding the corner of her own desk to sit down, “my lack of baking skills would put you in the hospital.”

He’d still eat it if she made it for him, threat of a hospital visit or not. “You couldn’t be _that_ terrible,” he laughed.

“Get to work, sir,” hiding a small smile.

The Colonel sighed and did as he was told. But his mind wandered back to his dream as he worked. He thought about marriage and children, maybe – just _maybe_ – the idea wasn’t so ridiculous if it was with the right woman. He thought about the one person that’s always been by his side and saw his darkness, accepted it, and understood it. His eyes flicked from the paper to Hawkeye, working diligently at her desk with Black Hayate at her feet like always, pushing a stray lock of golden hair out of her eyes.

If they had a future together outside of the military, he looked forward to it. But for now, Mustang was content for just being allowed to stay by his queen’s side.

**Author's Note:**

> First real fanfic that didn't exactly follow the prompt...buuuuuut I don't care. I have a few headcanons in here. I hope y'all like it?


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